Love Can't Change The Weather
by SilverStarsAndMoons
Summary: Emma catches the flu, despite all her precautions, and Will has to take care of her when she wakes up sick. Pure fluff! Lots of hurt/comfort.


They knew it was coming. Will and Emma both work in a high school and they are exposed to millions of germs every day. Whether they like it or not, sickness will happen, despite Emma's desperate hope that they'd be able to maintain their immunities against most childhood diseases (or in this case, teenager diseases that didn't have anything to do with STDs. If only!).

Will looks at it this way: sicknesses build immunity. And with his vigorous exercise routine and vast intake of healthy food, he actually rarely has to take a sick day.

Emma, on the other hand, has a picky palate and an inability to keep weight on. She also bathes regularly in Purell and other antibacterials. While you'd think bacteria don't stand a chance against her, she hasn't built any immunity up, either.

So while it was bound to happen one day, they didn't really consider the repercussions of what being sick might do to their relationship – and how Will would have to change his entire thinking in order to deal with Emma.

//~//

Will arrived home from school before Emma did on one rainy Tuesday afternoon. He was tired and had cancelled Glee – most of the kids were out with the flu anyway, and Rachel, despite her insistence that she was fine, biffed three high notes and cracked her voice in the middle of a phrase. After one look at her flushed cheeks and bright eyes, he'd decided that enough was enough and sent her home.

So far, he'd managed to avoid getting whatever was going around school, and though he had a headache today, he knew he was probably fine. Emma, too, had managed to avoid the flu, and had stepped up her normal cleaning habits to keep it away. It was still another month or so until the flu shot clinic would happen at the school, and she was determined to keep herself well at least until then.

He started dinner, putting a roast in the oven and beginning to scrape and wash some potatoes. Emma was due home from SAT prep soon, and she was always tired after one of these sessions, her face paler than usual, her back sore and her feet aching from being unaccustomed to standing and teaching in heels. He liked to make sure that she didn't have to worry about anything, and in return, she'd let him rub her feet and kiss her neck and generally make her comfortable in front of whatever TV show before she had her evening shower and curled up with him in bed, sighing sweetly in exhaustion.

Will heard the door swing open and Emma's pre-emptive sigh as she took off her coat, her keys making their customary jingle. He waited for her greeting, but when he didn't hear anything, he popped out into the hallway, his school clothes covered prudently by an apron (because Emma had complained about having to Oxiclean his white shirts one too many times from cooking splashes).

"Em?"

"Hi," she said, her voice tired. She tried to smile. "Sorry, I'm a little late."

"No, that's okay, sweetheart." He came towards her, meaning to give her a kiss, but she scrunched her shoulders and he stepped back, a little hurt.

"Okay . . ."

"Listen, sweetie, I'm going to take a shower, okay?" She took off her shoes, let them dangle by their straps from her hands, and trudged towards the bathroom without even smiling at him. He stared after her, concerned.

She'd only been like this once before, when she'd had a really bad day at work and ended up getting her period on the way home. He'd rubbed her shoulders in bed that night and kissed her neck and eventually, after two showers that evening plus his TLC that night, she'd calmed down enough and apologized for being so cold.

He heard the shower start and finished dinner, putting the steaming food on plates and lighting a few candles on the table for good measure. He was just putting the finishing touches on the table when she came out of the shower, wearing sky blue flannel pajamas and fuzzy slippers. Her wet hair curled on her shoulders and without her makeup, she looked tired and pale.

He went up to her, wondering if she'd let him touch her, but she immediately brushed past him and sat down at the table, spreading her napkin over her lap.

"Hungry?" he ventured, going into the kitchen to get the plates.

"No, actually," she said bluntly, picking up her fork. "But you went to all this trouble."

He looked at her, stung. "Emma . . ."

"Look, Will, I'll eat, okay?" Her voice was sharp, and he sat down, feeling confused and hurt. She ate about three bites of potatoes, a small bite of meat, and most of her asparagus before draining an entire glass of water and standing up to clear her plate.

"That wasn't very much," he said, and she frowned.

"I told you, I'm not hungry, Will."

"Emma, what's wrong?" He got up, took her plate from her, and placed his hands on her shoulders. "If you had a bad day, you can tell me."

"My day was fine, Will." She shrugged him off and sighed. "I just need some space, okay? I love you, but . . . I just need some space. And I'm tired."

He tried not to look hurt. "Okay. You just had to say that, Em, that's all."

"I know, I'm being unfair, I get it, okay? But we only moved in together two months ago and sometimes I'm just not used to you being around all the time, doing things for me." She sighed and he heard tears in her voice. "I'm tired. And I'm just . . . I just want to go to bed."

He watched her sadly as she went in and shut the door to their room and finished cleaning up the dishes, stacking them neatly in the dishwasher and remembering to turn on the sanitize cycle, running the broom over the kitchen floor and slicing the roast for sandwiches tomorrow before sitting down, cracking open a beer and watching the hockey game.

When he finally turned off the lights and tiptoed into their room, Emma was asleep on her side, her red hair tumbled across her forehead and her fists clenched under her chin. He stroked her hair, feeling her warm damp forehead under her sideswept bangs, and kissed her gently.

She didn't stir, but she whimpered a little in her sleep and he slid in next to her, carefully giving her her space. She didn't move as he reached to turn off the light, but he whispered it anyway.

"I love you, sweetheart."

//~//

He woke up, vaguely aware something was wrong. He squinted at the clock, trying to read the numbers through his haze of tiredness, when he heard a barking cough from beside him and felt Emma whimper, tossing onto her right side.

He turned over, placing a hand on her back, and then letting go almost immediately – she was on fire. He placed a gentle hand on her forehead and felt her hot, dry skin. As he smoothed her hair back, she coughed again, the mucus build up in her chest evident from the very sound.

"Oh, sweetie," he muttered, and she opened her eyes, squinting at him and then coughing again, painfully.

"Ohh," she whimpered, and he took her in his arms, gently.

"Shh, you're just really sick, Em." He sat up, and she sat up with him, rubbing her eyes.

"I need . . . oh, Will, I'm not sick." Her blatant denial of her illness made him start to laugh, but he stopped when she started to cry.

"Emma, it's okay. You've got a fever, I think," he began, but stopped when her cough pitched her forward, her entire body reverberating. "Oh, sweetheart."

"I'm all messy," she whimpered, and then clung to him. "I don't feel good."

"It's that flu that's going around, I think," he said, and kissed her hair. "How about we have a bath? We'll get you some Aspirin, a nice cup of tea . . . we'll bring down your fever and then we can take a sick day tomorrow and lie in bed and make you feel better."

She leaned against him, burying her hot face in his pajama shirt, and coughed again, her nose beginning to run. He wrinkled his nose and reached for the tissues, handing her one and watching as she mopped her face and nose.

"I want to go home," she whimpered, and he held her close.

"You are home, sweetie. Look, let's get you nice and clean. Those pajamas are soaked through," he muttered, and then wished he hadn't when her expression changed to horror in the dim light from the window.

"Oh, Will, we're gonna have to change the sheets . . ."

"We will. It's just sweat, Em. Your fever's up pretty high."

She looked at the clock and pouted. "It's two-thirty in the morning. I have to work tomorrow and so do you," she reminded him, her voice starting to sound clogged.

"You're not working tomorrow, babe." He helped her out of bed and supported her as she began to shiver violently. "You okay?"

"Might . . . throw up," she said, swallowing quickly, and he quickly steered her into the bathroom. She sat on the toilet and gulped a glass of water, the colour returning to her cheeks.

"Okay?" he asked, and stroked back her hair.

"Yeah . . . just a little dizzy." She squinted in the bright light and then hugged herself, her lower lip beginning to tremble. "I feel horrible."

"I know, sweetie." He was busy running the bath, testing the water so that it seemed a little hot to him, since her fever was so high she'd probably freeze anyway in the water. He added a dollop of Vicks for good measure, remembering his mother doing this for him when he was sick, and the menthol-scented steam began to fill the bathroom. She coughed, her breathing starting to loosen up.

He helped her to a standing position and then gently helped her undress, moving the damp pajamas over her shoulders and helping her step out of her panties. Her tiny body began to shiver again, and he quickly undressed and lifted her into the tub, careful to settle himself against her back.

She closed her eyes, leaning her head against his chest, and sighed deeply. "I love you."

"I love you too, Emma." He held her, letting the warm water relax them. "How does that feel?"

"Better." She sounded sleepy. "I don't want to move."

"We're gonna get cold," he reminded her, and she turned, curling against his chest.

"I was so snippy with you," she said, her voice muffled against the wet hairs of his chest. "I was so mean and you cooked a nice dinner."

"Well, you were getting sick," he said, and smiled into her hair. "I should have known. You're never that cranky."

"I was so mean," she sniffled, and he saw her face crumple. He kissed the top of her head quickly and cuddled her closer.

"Sweetheart, you're just really sick. It's okay to not be yourself." He held her for a few more minutes in the water and watched her face smooth out as she started to fall asleep in his arms.

"Emma, come on, babe. We've got to get out. You can sleep in our nice clean bed, okay?"

"No," she said, sounding whiny. "I want to stay here."

"In this cold bath?" He laughed a little and then smiled when she giggled, too.

"No, in your arms."

"Let's get you dressed and then I'll help you go to sleep."

He left her in the warm water, putting on his bathrobe, and found her other pair of soft flannel pajamas in the drawer. They smelled sweet, like her. Bringing them back into the bathroom, he found her asleep in the tub, her head against the edge of the tub, her hair streaming over the side, and his eyes widened.

"No, sweetheart, wake up." He shook her a little, gently, and she opened her eyes.

"Oh." She blinked in the bathroom light and then pouted. "I still don't feel good."

"Come on, let's get you to bed."

He helped her out of the bath, supporting her body against his damp robe, kissing the top of her head. He towelled her off and then she dressed herself as he changed the bed. She stumbled back into the bedroom and without even waiting for him to put the comforter on just so, climbed back into bed and curled up into a fetal position.

"Couldn't wait?" He climbed in next to her, holding the Aspirin bottle and laughed as she rocked her head against the pillow.

"Come on, sweetie, let's get your fever down." He helped her sit up and she swallowed two Aspirin, draining the rest of her water.

"I'm thirsty," she murmured, and he got up to get her another glass of water. She watched him and then suddenly smiled, the smile seeming out of place in her tired, pale face.

"You're so nice to me. I'm so lucky."

"I love you, sweetheart," he said from the bathroom, and padded back into the bedroom, handing her the cool glass. She leaned over and took it from him, placing a soft kiss on his cheek.

"I love you, too."

Her fever started to come down within half an hour of the Aspirin, and he traced circles on her back, listening to her breathing even out, her skin start to cool down.

It's then he realized – it doesn't matter what mood she's in, what she says, or how cranky she is when she gets home from work – he'd stay up all night with her whenever she needed him.

She rolled over and sighed against his chest, cuddling close into him, her smile evident even against his skin.

"I feel better now."

He smiled back. "Good."


End file.
